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readychilledwine · 6 days

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Pleaseee please could you do obsessive acotar boys who can’t get enough of reader please?

Obsessed

Clingy ACOTAR boys headcanons

Warnings- suggestive themes, mentions of abuse, possessive vibes, death, different ideas I either tossed out or was too insecure to post in short form (including an AU where Feyre doesn't destroy Spring and Tamlin isn't turned into what he's turned into), Beron, abuse, the Weaver, Ianthe, pregnancy

Rhysand

The bond snapped after Feyre freed them from the mountain. You were walking with her, giggling about heading home to Spring.

Of course, his mate was his enemy's little sister, and of course that only further the obsession.

Rhys wanted to free you from under Tamlin's grasp, and it became his mission.

It started with daily letters that you ignored.

Then gifts brought to you by shadows.

Then he'd show up in your room. Smiling as he leaned back against your headboard. "Hello y/n Darling."

You caved after 2 weeks of his nightly visits. Allowing him to plan your "kidnapping"

He rips you from Spring with Feyre. Having convinced Tamlin that if he was so worried about his bride to be, he should send his baby sister as a chaperone.

Once he has you in his home, in your home, those soft touches you two shared at night were no longer enough

His lips were on your body constantly. Your hands, your neck, your own soft lips.

Speaking of hands, I hope you like physical contact, because he has to constantly touch you.

In public, the placement is so respectful. Lower back to the lower side, resting just about your hips, guiding you as you shop and spend his money.

When you finally warm his bed, he cancels all plans the next day to ensure he has proper time to explore your body.

He memorized every freckle, every stretch mark, every scar. He doesn't stop until he knows every ticklish spot, every spot that makes your toes curl.

His love languages are gifts and physical touch, so once you opened that box, you opened a whole can of worms.

You are pulled into unused bedrooms, his office, Azriel and Cassian's offices when they're away, supply closets. He doesn't stop until he's tasted you on every surface and in every room.

I wish you luck during the frenzy. He won't stop until you are throughly spent and bred. How else will he ensure you never leave him?

Cassian

He had admired you while you two were growing up together in Windhaven.

He watched you do your chores and got his ass kicked for it more than he wants to admit.

Even at a young age, Cassian courted you. He didn't care that the flowers he was pulling were weeds. He still turned them into a bouquet or had Rhysand's mother weave them into your hair.

That didn't change as you two grew older together. By 18, it was known you were his, and by that point, everyone knew not to fuck with what's Cassian's.

He wouldn't touch you until your chores were done, wanting to spare you what little pain he could from your father's heavy hand.

Cassian wasn't respectful with his hand placement. The male has always had high sex drive, and he found his match in you.

You and Cassian shamelessly fucked in places that had your dear mother crying. The weapon storage shed. The forest. The mess hall once it was empty.

It was no shock to anyone, especially not you and Cassian, when the bond snapped right as he was leaving for the first war with Hybern.

When he came home to you and took you to Velaris, all bets were off. Rhys settled you two into the House of Wind, Azriel into the Riverhouse, and he took the townhouse.

The two of them never flew to the House of Wind without warning you or Cassian first. To do so had them risking walking in on you riding or Cassian with his head thrown back as you screamed for him.

Cassian can't stop touching you. He can't stop talking about you. He can't stop being in love with you. Even if the only way he knows how to show it is physically.

Not that you're complaining. You didn't need to walk anywhere today.

Azriel

Azriel worshipped you the second Rhysand's mother brought you back to the cabin.

Your voice became salvation, your scent became home, and your hands healed part of him he did not even know was broken.

The bond snapped young for you two. He had just turned 18, and you were still 16. He took his distance then, allowing you to explore the world much to your own protests. You understood why after two years.

It was the most selfless thing anyone had ever done for you. He allowed you to grow without his influence, despite how painful it had to have been watching you with other males.

Your father sees this whole relationship and mateship as a benefit to him alone. He takes you and Azriel to Velaris during the war.

He unknowingly allowed the relationship to go to heights he had already said were off limits to Azriel.

The number of times you had to mask your scent during dinner because a shadow was all too happily playing in your skirts was almost comical.

The relationship between you two is never able to go beyond heated kisses, stolen touches, and lingering glances.

Even in death, Azriel comes to you, speaking to you when he's lost and lonely.

He still obsessed over you, wishing he had more time, wishing he was with you. But the pain lessened.

Being ripped from the Cauldron by Amren was painful and terrifying.

You had a new body, modeled after your old one. You were slightly taller this time, and your face was still able to send males to war.

As much as it pained Azriel, he allowed Rhysand to be the first to you. He allowed your brother to be the one to hold you as you cried, confused and asking where you were. He let Mor go next, then Amren listening as the ancient being told you it was okay and that your purpose was not finished, so she was told to bring you back. Cassian dropped to his knees before you. Holding you as he apologized.

But Azriel waited. He walked beside you in silence as you were taken to the warcamp.

All bets were off once you were in his tent.

You don't know if you rushed to him first or if he came to you, but that reunion kiss was rough. Too much teeth and tongue. Tears falling down both of your faces.

He took things slowly with you. Your first life granted you powers like the world had never seen before, and this time was no different. You could move the stars at will, silence the connect other fae shared with their magic without even having to loosen a breath.

It was final confirmation of what many already knew. Rhysand was high lord due to his cock, not his power, and that sheer fact had Azriel on his knees for you once you were ready.

You are his living goddess, and Azriel is always ready to worship.

Lucien

Eris saved both of you. He had sent you to Spring long before you could be ripped from the market in autumn.

Lucien joined you soon after. Crying to the Mother in gratitude the second you came out from hiding behind Tamlin.

You were a rare breed of lesser fae. Your kind looked similar to the high fae by all means, but your kind had the ability to communicate with every living being.

You knew the names of each tree, of each flower, every critter. You could hear the winds whispers, see the colors he asked you to, and tell them all the meaning.

Your kind had been hunted for years, much like the shadowsingers.

It made Lucien almost unbearable when it came to his protective streak. But so did this new freedom.

Lucien is shamelessly in love with you. As an emissary, he gets to travel places you will never see. But he always brings you something back because you are always on his mind.

He brings you ornaments from Winter, jewelry from Day, sea shells from Summer, clothing from Dawn.

Lucien will speak about you for hours on end. It makes Tamlin crazy at times, but seeing how naturally you two fit together quickly makes the sting of jealousy fade.

Lucien purposes under a willow tree. Your absolute favorite one that you go to for guidance. Even if the bond does not snap, he wants you as his wife.

And boy does being his wife make things interesting.

He is suddenly growling at any male who studies your body for too long. Holding you from behind at all times. Showering you with even more things.

The bond snaps after Amarantha mutilated him. It snapped as you were nursing him back to health. Reminding him his beauty has nothing to do with why you love him, but instead it is his kindness and his soul.

You two become mutually obsessed from that point forward. More often than not, you will send a bird to shit on someone if they harm Lucien in any sense.

You both can not keep your hands to yourself anymore. It was as if that scar actually sealed his place as the most handsome male you had ever laid eyes on.

He sends you away to the forest when the 50 years is coming to a close. Not caring if he dies for it.

You would be his last thought if he did. And during that second trial, you were his only thought.

Everything he had done was for your safety, and if he ever saw you again, he would whisper those one thousand words he wanted to say as he laid between your legs, and he would never let go again.

Eris

Childhood best friends to lovers? Anyone? Anyone?

Well... kind of childhood best friends.

You met Eris when he was 6 and you were 5.

Your parents were one of two shadow hound breeders, and Beron was desperate to get his hands on one of your family's pups specifically.

You had this special talent that you could use from the moment you were able to. You seemed to know which hounds needed to be bred together to create the most powerful litters. And you did it all without inbreeding.

Your family quickly took hold of the other breeder's dogs, and you, your father's pride and joy, made their lives better.

Eris becomes obsessed with you from that day forward, and Beron knows it. Hence why you two are married at the young ages of 18 and 17.

Eris is madly in love and in private is very expressive of that.

He shows his love through praise.

"You look absolutely stunning today, little fox," is a common greeting as he brings you a tray of fresh fruits, eggs, breakfast meat of choice, and toast.

The sap cuts your toast into a heart.

He's a hopeless romantic, and it kills you that no one is able to see how he is with you outside of his mother amd your parents who are waiting for the day they get to go to war for him.

The second you end up pregnant, Eris's love turned into true obsession and not the healthy normal kind between partners.

He becomes possessive and overprotective. Your suddenly moved to one of his private hunting cabins with a guard detail and private healer assigned to you and you only.

He has to have his hands on you at all times. The only exception is when he is at the Forest House.

It is love. You know that deep down, but Gods, you are lonely.

You understand why this is happening, though, when he shows up beaten and bruised, limping into your arms for any sense of comfort.

His obsession is your safety. The safety of the lives you carry.

Once you birth his twins, the game changes. The obsession is now on him not being able to get enough of your new body.

Your mom body lives rent-free in Eris's mind. He's stroked himself in his office to the thought of your fuller breasts and supple hips more times than he'd like to admit.

He loves to squeeze your hips, loving the soft feel of them.

He would have gone to war for you beforehand. He does it now.

He wants to see a crown of leaves and berries on your head, sparkling but failing in comparison to the gem he has in his bed.

He crowns you high lady during his coronation.

You are his, and he is yours, regardless of that bond never snapping. You two do not need the Mother nor the Cauldron to decide you are each other's equal and other halves. You already know.

Tamlin

You knew you were Tamlin's mate long before Amarantha. You were a well kept secret, hidden out of fear of Rhysand coming to take you as well.

You made home in The Middle. Becoming friends with the Weaver was interesting, but you two forged a relationship. You bring her food, she offers protection, so yes. You kept her fed.

Tamlin comes back for the second he allows Rhysand to take Feyre.

You two spend the week she is there in bed, fucking like rabbits until he was content.

It's dead silence when Feyre comes back. He had expected Rhysand to keep her, not hold up his end of the bargain, and he also believed their relationship to be over.

Rhys was an idiot if he thought Tamlin couldn't scent the mating bond. He was willingly handing her over, and the High Lord had to aggressively whisper that to Rhys one night in his office to get it through the other male's thick skull.

It took Tamlin tugging the bond for you for Rhysand to understand.

The Lord of Night was almost disgusted by the love and mutual need you and Tamlin shared. He felt the two of you marked him in the scent of roses and petrichor.

The two of them sat Feyre down 3 days later, and she eagerly went to Night after Tamlin finally got her to understand that while he loves her, he cannot help her and love her the way Rhys will be able to.

That freed you two up, much to Ianthe's anger, to make up for lost time all over again.

He lives between your thighs. No one can change my mind, but Tamlin is a munch, and he cannot get enough of the taste of you.

When you find out Ianthe put her hands on him, on Rhysand, on Lucien you and Feyre become a force. Ianthe selling Feyre's sisters to Hybern had been enough for you and Tamlin to begin the process of banishing her. But much to Tamlin's delight, this made you feral.

Feyre crippled the priestess, and you dragged her by her bleach and tone blonde hair to the Weaver, smiling to Stryga.

"Feyre's apology present for stealing the ring, dear friend." Feyre held a breath, fingers squeezing your wrist as the Weaver moved, scenting Ianthe's fear, blood, and tears.

"And what is this?"

The two of you look at each other, mirrored cruel smiles before speaking in unison, "Dinner."

Tamlin, Lucien, and Rhysand watched from a distance as Feyre retreated to them, and you stayed to ensure the priestess did not somehow escape. "I can see why you love her," Rhysand started slowly. "She's-"

"Everything," Tamlin stated softly. "She is everything."

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mid13s · 25 days

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hey guys! (with the intentions of having you read my fantasy byler AU “Exile”)

heres a pre-view of chapter 1 🥰 (words: 1394/4227)

“Get back!”

Mike seemed to scream at the sky. The fog closed in, thick and wet, and coated his face in its slick spray. He gripped a spear in his clammy hand so hard his knuckles were white, exposing the bone underneath.

The monster flew overhead, its gaping mouth stained with the blood of his men. It turned to face the boat and hissed, exposing its sword like teeth which had to have been the same length as Mike’s arm. Its hollow eyes glowed behind the haze.

Mike acted fast; raising his spear and launching it towards the creature's open mouth. It caught in the back of its throat, shearing its tongue from the root, and came out of the other side, slamming into nearby rock with the sharp clang of bronze. The creature’s wings flailed helplessly in an attempt to fly through the narrowed rock.

Mike heard Lucas crying orders as the monster came crashing down into the front of the boat. Its heavy head hit the dock, cracking the floorboards beneath it. Dustin had spent the morning oiling down the boards to avoid them from creaking but it was proven useless; the monster could smell them anyway.

The creature's mass weighed down the ship, sending immense amounts of water to seep into the boat's deck. The party scrambled back as their boat sank.

“We have to get it off the deck!” He heard Max scream behind him. Mike grabbed a spear and ordered the others to do the same. A mix of blood and water flooded his boots as he made his way towards the monster's head. Its dyspneic breathing reeked of the rotted flesh which clung to its teeth.

Mike aimed his spear under the creature's head in an attempt to lift it off the deck. The party also added the spears to the dead weight and lifted. Mike turned his head to the others and the gut wrenching realization set in; They were the only one’s still living. The dock was soaked in the fresh and old blood of his comrades. Mike turned back to face the monster who slayed his men and burning anguish rose in his chest. With a grunt, he raised his spear and stabbed the creature in the face and pushed.

The monster's limp body flopped off the deck with a splash that drenched his party. Waves crashed into the boat as the weight was lifted off the end of the deck. Mike dropped to his knees and dragged himself away from the edge as he tried to grasp his breath. His forehead was slick with sweat and the sickening mixture of blood and water sloshed around underneath him.

Dustin crashed down next to him. “Holy shit.” That came muffled through Mike’s ears along with the labored breathing of his party, who lay behind him. Lucas held Max in his arms, smoothing the hair on her forehead.

Dustin got their boat steady again, guiding it carefully through the ragged rocks and other wrecked ships who hadn't been as prosperous. The others had pulled out their bedrolls and sleep soon overcame them.

Given his experience, Dustin was on watch first and in charge of keeping the boat in the right direction. Mike approached him, noting how exhausted he looked.

“I can take watch. You deserve sleep.” Mike spoke.

Dustin sat with his lyre in his lap, his fingers moving across the strings as a weavers would their thread. “No, I assure you I am fine. After all your effort today, It would be heedless to ask you of that. Take the bedroll there.” He pointed toward the bedroll which lay beside him. Mike wanted to protest but Dustin started to play a tune, soft and sweet and Mike soon found himself overwhelmed with sleep.

❋ ❋ ❋

Mike awoke alone, with heavy limbs and aching muscles. The wind carried through the boat's edges was sweet and sultry and the sun illuminated above him, warming the bronze that covered his back. He lifted himself into his elbows and looked around over the edge of the boat. He was on the shore of what he assumed was an island. Huge trees with fresh, juicy apricots hanging from their branches were scattered around the island. Behind him was the open ocean, nothing in sight besides the mountains which were miles away. The tide came in and out and he watched as the sand absorbed the water as the tide drew back.

Mike stood up, armor creaking with the shifting weight. He pried his helmet off his head, his sweat slick hair clinging to it. He tossed it to the side with a huff. He grabbed his sword and slid it into the sheath strap on his hip.

Stepping out of the boat carefully, he was met by plush flowers that pooled around his ankles. He looked back at the boat. The front was demolished because of the monster. He was surprised Dustin had made it so far given the state of their boat. Where were they? Mike thought. He hadn't heard them leave or anything–they were simply gone.

Mike placed his hands on the small of his back and bent rearwards, receiving some sharp pops in response. He exhaled through his nose and continued his walk through the forest. Birds sang their soothing lullabies from their spots in the trees and the gentle wind wrapped around his curls.

Up ahead, he heard footsteps. They were quick and close together; running. Mike took a step back and unsheathed his sword, raising it with both hands. He clammed up, breathing through his nose. The quick footfall got louder, closer and Mike gripped his sword, eyes locked toward the direction in which the sound was coming from.

A girl with burning red hair ran toward him, her golden bracelets clinking together as her arms moved back and forward. The bottom of her white skirt was caked with mud.

“Mike!” It was Max.

“Max, are you alright?” He lowered his sword.

She caught up to him, panting. She glanced behind her nervously but from what Mike could see, no one was following her. She turned back to him, eyebrows furrowed.

“We–we found a palace and,” She gasped, “and we heard this voice—a wonderful, lively voice–singing, but there was something—someone—lurking inside.”

Mike studied her carefully. “What did the palace hide?”

“A man. He–he offered us rest and food. I was skeptical but followed Lucas and Dustin inside. They sat down and he offered them watered-wine but when they drank it..” She paused, her eyes darting across Mike's face.”

“Max,” Mike spoke carefully, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“He did something to the wine Mike. He changed them.”

“Changed them how?”

Max glanced behind her once more, fresh sweat dripping down her temple. The loose hairs from her braid clung to her face and neck. “While they ate, they began to grow shouts and cloven hooves. He turned them from men to pigs. Mike, we must do something.

“We’ll have to fight this..man.” Mike spoke, glancing out towards the woods.

“No!” Fear flashed in her eyes. “No, we can not. This is unlike anything we’ve faced before; the gods, and monsters have nothing to compare. We are weak to a power such as his.” Max spoke fast, seemingly in one breath.

Mike clenched his sword. “Where are they now?”

“The pen. He led them there. He watched me run, Mike. He knew I was getting help. He is not stupid, he knows someone is coming for him.”

Mike straightened his posture. Fear swelled in him as he glanced into the forest, now knowing what lay inside. “Did he go back into the palace?”

Max nodded, swallowing her nerves down.

“Okay, you need to go back to the pen and watch over Dustin and Lucas, make sure they are not harmed. Grab a spear in the boat,” He gestured behind him, “and make sure he does not come out again. I will follow close behind but we don’t want him knowing you came for me, but for the spear alone.”

Max blinked, processing. “Okay.” She regarded him once more before setting her attention on the boat back on shore. Mike watched her as she grabbed a spear from the chest. She made her way back up to him, nodded, and headed back towards the palace.

I hope you enjoyed chapter 1 so far! i have NO idea when this is coming out (I'm debating on finishing it in its entirety and then post a chapter every Friday) but i know it will be start getting posted around May-July. Also keep in mind that this is a draft so it going to be pretty shitty.

@will80sbyers @unlockedcuriositydoor @sillylittlerock heard u guys were interested 🙏

ao3: mid13s

character playlists:

#i already have like five chapters written #Its gonna be split up into sagas #the karidá saga #the pythia saga #and the vecna saga #the playlists will make more sense as the fic progresses #but it's a nice way to get a feel of this universes mike and will #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things #fanfic #cleradin #< vibes tbh #wiseheart #Spotify

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hcdragonwrites · 9 months

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A Mountain of Sweets

(a @journey-to-the-au fic) Tea Trouble part 1

Ok! This is a part one of two- yes I did it again I wrote something that’s a biiiiit longer then I want to subject y’all to in one post- so I had to split it. ENJOY!

Today would be glorious.

Earth Reaching Willow had to make sure everything went perfect. She had woken early, disentangling herself from her cuddle buddy of Wukong, Pear and several new babies who had begged for a story and had fallen asleep on Willows arms and in her hair. She dressed simply and made her way to the kitchen to help get a head start.

Her sisters were coming to visit.

All six sisters.

Everything had to be perfect, it would go perfect. It would go amazingly well. Willow had already started upon the tea cakes and tarts, picking the best peach jams and stuffings. Willow selected the finest green tea brand. Willow pulled the tea set gifted to her from Guanyin on her Wedding day, a spectacular peace of simple white porcelain laced and decorated in blossoms. She grabbed the finest tray and collected the sweetest teacups. When the teacakes and tarts finished she settled herself into the work going through the cold storages and ice boxes for the best fruits and seeds to fry. A plethora of moon tea cakes, of coconut cakes, and bean cakes was slowly being created. Willow roasted pine nuts, she fried small breads and cut the cold stored fruit into harmonious shapes of lotus blossoms and stars.

All seven sisters were coming to visit Flower Fruit Mountain. Stress strung her tighter then a bow for two reasons. The first of course was to impress. Her sisters would finally see how beautiful the world is here, to see how the Earth was not something to turn their nose up at. It was a paradise that consistently changed, that surprised her with every hand painted dawn and new sketched night. No two days were the same, no two phases of the moon were similar. The world was cast in shades and colors and music that Willow hoped- that she prayed - her sisters would see.

The second reason for her stress was … all six of her sisters were coming to visit.

Summer Turning Flower, her second sister and her mothers daughter. Winter Frosted Grace, with her cold confidence and calculations. Autumn Leaves Falling, who could charm a raging storm with a smile. Wind Over Sea, the swiftest and most eager to please. Weaves The Clouds, who liked to prank and tease. And Little Weaver Girl, the sweetest and youngest of the sisters.

Seven sisters of Heaven and … Willow worried for her sweet family here on the Mountain. Back when the Heavens didn’t corral the daughters in so tightly, on a summer night, they had decided to visit the earth. They had snuck out and taken their fathers best heavenly steeds- both as protection and as a mode of transport- to take a night among the mortals. It was a jaunt and play at rebellion, one Willow and Flower had been in planning for years. They had escaped the court, laughing with the abandon of children. Down to earth the seven sisters upon seven steeds had come a galloping. They had gone to the closest river, the shiniest bend of liquid night, and had slipped from garments to nothing. They had swam with abandon, laughed and splashed. The joy of that night gave Willow a beat of heart sickness. She missed those days when the sisters had laughed and schemed together.

They had been so naive then. So carefree. A taste of that joy was just in her memory, a warm brush against her senses. Like a ghost of a feeling.

“Willow?”

She turned seeing a very sleepy and very tired Wukong blinking at her. His fur was mused. His face still carrying the lines of sleep as he yawned wide and rubbed at his eyes.

“I was wondering where you had gone.” He came walking forward into the kitchen reaching for her hand. Willow stepped forward and took it. Wukongs eyes widened at the counter behind her- the red practically swallowing the polished gold of his pupils. “It is so early still, My Willow Tree.”

Willow felt a bit of her face flame. Just a little, as the Monkey King stepped up to the counter and looked at her mornings work. Wukong tugged her hand.

“Tell me you haven’t been up all night making these.” His faced begged her to counter his assumption. How else could she have accomplished so much in so short a time?

“Only since the first chime of the bell.” Willow sheepishly tucked a stray hair behind her ear, looking to the floor, to the ceiling, everywhere but her sweet friends face.

“The first chime! Willow- that was six Chimes ago!” He admonished and her husband was suddenly larger- leaning into her face and taking away her ability to duck his looks. Drat Wukong. Her friend may be uncomfortable with direct eye contact but he would quickly forget about it when it came to things of this nature. He now used his magic to make it so she could not escape his scrutiny.

“That was the turning of the night Guards! I could have had the chefs start the preparations. You did not have to wear yourself out.” Wukong gently put a finger to her chin, tilting her head up. A thumb ran beneath her eye, shadowing the dark circles that had made nests below.

“… “ Willow was caught. She had nothing to say in her defence. She had just been so nervous- so nervous and wanting to impress the impossible expectations of her sisters. Wukongs eyes softened, the gold going warm , honey melting into warm embers.

“Oh Willow what has you so worried.” He held her face in his hands gently, not caging her in but holding her so she could not deny or run from it. A simple I am here that grounded her.

“I just want everything to be perfect.” Willow sighed. She held one of his hands with her own. Wukong twined his fingers with hers, rubbing the backs with the pad of his thumb. “I want them to love Earth and see how much I love it. How beautiful it is. This whole place- everyone here- I love it so Wukong. I just …”

“Princess,” He kissed her brow, the places beneath her eyes where those shadows nestled. His smile was the soft curve of the moon at night, all soft light and kindness. “Your sisters will love it because you love it. You have nothing to worry for.”

“You say that but…”

“Willow,” he tapped her nose, tucking and tugging her into his arms, “if you wear yourself out before they have even started their decent from Heaven, I will bring Beng in here to scold you for the lack of sleep.”

His breath tickled her ear as he threatened Willow. She gave a mock gasp, looking up from her place beneath his chin.

“Not Beng! He scolds with his face.” Willow scrunched her face in the best Beng impression she had, the one the medicine monkey wore when his patients clearly ignored his advice. Wukongs face broke into laughter, a delightful waterfall of vibration along her back. “He may never say a harsh word but his face speaks enough to make my ears turn red.”

“My point exactly.” Wukong said. He grew a bit larger, setting Willows feet on his own. He started to walk her back, puppeteering her away from the kitchen in the goofiest way. “Now come on…”

“But…” Willow looked at the rice cakes, the bountiful mess and harvest of her labour. Was it enough?

“No one will touch the cakes.” Wukong promised. “No one would think to today of all days to do that. All of the mountain is abuzz and they want today to go off without a hitch.”

“I just … “ want to impress them. Want to impress you. I want there to be harmony between the love of my family in Heaven and the love of my family On Earth. “I want you to be happy with them.” She said out-loud.

Willow didn’t get to see the way the monkeys eyes went from honey to butter at her words. He melted against her, draping her in fur and twining his tail around her waist.

“Oh my Willow Tree.” He said it so softly, eliciting Willow to look up. Just in time, for Wukong had her legs out from under her and had swung her around onto his side. He was carrying her almost like the mothers did to their babes, close but with one hand on the ground. Willow curled into him, seeing the tender admonishment in her friends eyes.

“Come. Back to bed with you. The littles are all upset their Grandmother left without morning kisses and Pear is particularly beside herself.” Before she could say more, Wukong was loping away and back to their room where a barrel of littles came climbing and begging for cuddles and kisses. Wukong worried not for the snacks Willow had made. He more or less worried about the the stores she had burned through in those six chimes.

For Willow, in all her worry, had made a mountain of tarts, a landslide of teacakes, a sea of fried breads and foodstuff, that spilled and took over not one but four of the longest counters in the kitchens.

As he looked down on her, still holding him as she cuddled and cooed to the little monkeys he thought, fondly and with humour, “What am I going to do with you and your habit of baking us under a mountain of sweets?”

It was only a short time later that Ma and Ba crept into the kitchen, tempted by the smells of sweets and baking.

“Just one won’t hurt.” Ba grumbled. He wouldn’t admit it to Willow- but her food had woken him from his tangle with Chestnut and their little Lychee.

“Of course.” Ma said, stepping up to the counters with her tail excitedly flagging. She was still in the dregs of her recent release from postpartum depression. Willow had gently, for weeks, left foodstuffs and sweets outside her and Bengs hut. A kindness and a gesture Ma was so thankful for. Between Pomelo and Mulberry, she was practically spent with energy. She had also smelled the sweets being made and … couldn’t help herself.

“Willow wouldn’t mind one missing…” or two. Or ten.

Neither of the Marshals however, noticed the ice blue eyes open from a perch just above them, a cracked fracture in the wall.

“If you touch a single one of Willows cookies for those Celestials,” the cold voice of Xinshu whipped out like an adder freezing the twins in place “I will personally see your pelts pulled and turned into mud rugs.”

Xinshu fell as silent as a snow cat from her perch. Her teeth were barred in a threat. “I won’t have you two making us look foolish because you ate all of the baked goods.”

Ma and Ba, caught and cowed, scuttled away from the white simian in all her fury. If they had lingered long enough to see, to peek back in, they would have seen Xinshu look at the sweets. Like at a peach tart. And slide it into one of the pockets in her belt

#hcwrites #writing stuff #hcfanfics #for journey to the au #FIRST PART DONE #HERE WE ARE A CUTE LITTLE PRECURSOR TO THE DRAMA ABOUT TO UNFOLD #jttw au #jttw tag #sun wukong #jttw sun wukong #earth reaching willow #Wukong being big fluffy man who likes to walk his wife on the tops of his feets ? yes #am I a sucker for cute actions and romantic things? yes #have I stres baked before? YES #I listened to Hoizers new album with this. but the one that I really liked is “All Things end’#it’s that chorus man it’s like an anthem of the heart.#i love it #this is so fun to write pls #ENJOY IT ALL OF YOU #these monkeys have me in a choke hold but it ain’t bad #it’s so FUN TO WRITE FOR ALL THESE PEOPLE #It helps me also when I write my stuff because I am my OWN worse critic #like if it’s for me I am nitpicking everything and chewing it over #writing for others helps me not be over critical.#BUT ALSO WRITING CUTE LITTLE INTERACTIONS IF FUCKEN FUN PLS #HOW WUKONG COMES IN ALL SLEEPY FOR WILLOW #LIKE imagine home waking up and popping his head out of the cuddle nest and going ????? wife???? wife missing????#He had to leave a double for the littles to snuggle on #WRITING XINSHU BECAUSE HER BEING SNEAKY OVER MA AND BAS SHENANIGANS #ALSO FRUIT TROOP IS COMING

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quiche-draws · 6 months

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We've been cooking at the Kotaloy Elysium discord for the past week, all cuz we were inspired by a Critical Role campaign trailer which Noshir Dalal (Kotallo) and Ashly Burch (Aloy) will be starring in.

And so, a fantasy-steampunk AU was born, where magic is abundant in a world very unlike ours. ✨

In a post-apocalyptic world, where the land has come apart, separated by never-ending seas, Sky Admiral Kotallo, captain of the Tenakth skyship Wings of The Ten, needs a new wind weaver. These individuals possess the powerful ability to manipulate air and so often serve as Navigators, guiding skyships of all tribes through natural or conjured air currents. The Admiral will need such a person if he is to accomplish the herculean task of mapping out the world and exploring uncharted regions A Nora girl, Aloy, is one such wind weaver. After a fateful encounter, she, along with her twin sister Beta, who is a gifted seer, end up joining his band of skyfarers. Together, they begin unraveling the mysteries of the ancient world before them, discovering new lands and cultures, making new friends, allies and enemies alike.

*Aloy design (second image) by @i-lavabean. Other art for this AU has already been posted by @han-ban-bam, @mancatrex and @astralpaint! Go check'em out!

(PS. feel free to send asks if you want to know more 😆 I set up an entire Gdoc to keep track of the details we'd been discussing in the server)

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST! REBLOG ONLY!

#horizon forbidden west #hfw #aloy #kotallo #beta #kotaloy #wind weaver au #admiral kotallo #wind weaver aloy #the sky admiral and the wind weaver #horizon zero dawn #qooky art #fan art #stay tuned for more!#edited cuz i forgot someone sorry!!

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i-lavabean · 3 months

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Little Aloy from @quiche-draws Wind Weaver AU

#wind weaver au #wind weaver aloy #horizon forbidden west #my art #art #aloy #illustration #lavabean art #tried for Studio Ghibli style and i like how it turned out

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han-ban-bam · 5 months

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She’s removing the dust and grit from the hand mechanism, it’s a delicate job

more of @quiche-draws wind weaver au 💖

#quiche draws #wind weaver au #admiral Kotallo #wind weaver aloy #kotaloy au

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baggebythesea · 6 months

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Ok so after listening to all female covers of the Aladdin soundtrack I had an Idea. A Glitradora Genie Au ✨.

Adora as Aladdin 🪔 Glimmer as Genie 🧞‍♀️ Catra as Jasmine 💎 Me-log as Rajah 🐯, Swift Wind as Carpet 🦄, and Shadow Weaver as Jafar.

It’s also possible to switch them around like: Catra as Aladdin, Adora as Genie, and Glimmer as Jasmine. It could go either way. I feel like an all female cast would be pretty compelling. They’d also have an interesting dynamic if the Genie got to build their own rapport with the princess.

YES!

It would be AMAZING. The cave where the lamp is found is Light Hope's temple, of course.

I agree - it's very compelling to have a relationship between geenie and the princess - especially when she gets her hands on the lamp...

It will be an extremely dorky scene very close to the end where there's one wish left and they all hand the lamp back and forth. "No you have it, no you have it, no you wish something for yourself...."

"you can't give me what I want anyway"

"Hey! I can do anything well except... make anyone... fall in... love..." *blushes deeply*

"Um you might... not.. need... to..."

Bow's character, getting fed up: "OMG THE THREE OF YOU ARE IN LOVE! JUST KISS ALREADY!" (i think Bow should have Abu's role, but not as a monkey, simply another street urchin who is best friend with Adora and along for the ride.

#spop #glitradora #aladin au

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tippenfunkaport · 8 months

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glimbow mermaid AU but both of them are merpeople

Adora (human) finds the sword, it turns her into a mermaid. (But like... a super She-Ra mermaid with a magic kelpie steed, Swift Wind.) She meets merpeople Glimmer and Bow and distrusts them at first because her commanders have been telling her for years the mythical creatures are evil but starts to realize that, in fact, it's the other way around. She helps mermaid princess Glimmer to rebuild an alliance of mythical creatures to fight back. (Perfuma is a dryad, Frosta an angry ice dwarf, Mermista is a naiad because we already used mermaids, Sea Hawk is a privateer who's a half-siren because he deserves it, Entrapta is a kraken who does destroy whole fleets of ships sometimes, but it's just an accidental by-product of her experiments in fusing magic with technology.)

Shadow Weaver is secretly a sea witch working against her own kind for power, Horde Prime is Cthulhu (we just flip those tube hairs around to the front!) and Hordak is the Cthulhu you have at home.

Scorpia is a lobster. Just go with it.

And something something... Catra is a sexy pirate.

#spop #shera #she ra #catra #adora #glimmer #bow #entrapta #hordak #mermista #sea hawk #perfuma #scorpia #frosta #asks #feel free to add characters I forgot

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the-lady-amphitrite · 7 months

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— A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING | chapter 10

a fate already affixed

pairing: Loki / f!half-Asgardian!Reader word count: 5,043 summary: the time for your Weaver's Reading has arrived, and Skuld tells you what she can about your future in this chapter: references to Laufey's death & Odin's past removal of one of his eyes, reader feels so 15 bc of her attitude in this it hurts, blood magic & non-descript references to blood, very blatant canonical racist attitude about Frost Giants, lots of Skuld being cryptic author notes: hello everyone, i return once more after dragging myself out of bg3 hell long enough to finish polishing and uploading this! this chapter concludes what i like to think of as "act one" for AFB (with all of the setup about soulmates, glimpses at interrealm politics, and a look at how people get their godnames in this AU), and the next chapter kicks off "act two"! i'm really looking forward to posting the six chapters that make it up; it's honestly my favourite thread of this whole AU.

( previous chapter | read on ao3 | series masterlist )

You yawn at the stars as you lean against the front side of the karvi as it sails along Yggdrasil’s branches. The bright, distant stars are nothing more than blurred lines as they fly past the ship. They remind you that (despite not being able to tell yourself) this ship moves faster than even the racing skiffs on Asgard.

The ship — you remember someone had referred to her as the Grey Wolf — arrived on the shore of Asgard this morning, spearing through a dense fog in such silence that it left you in awe. The sun had yet to crest above the horizon when the karvi docked, there only to pick up you and your mother to head to Gymirsgard.

Sleep still clung to you like the mist of a light, drizzling rain when your mother dragged you from bed to get up and dressed for this trip. Your birthday party had run late into the previous evening, even though the celebrations had started from the moment you walked into a private breakfast with your family. Even Volstagg, his parents, and his sister Birsa (who just returned from her Valkyrjur trials), were all invited to the family breakfast. It was the first of many surprises for your fifteenth birthday.

Fifteen.

A smile works its way onto your tired face as you remember once more. You’ve looked forward to today for as long as you can remember. You can’t count how many times you’ve dreamt of your visit to the Weavers of Fate over the years. Of facing Skuld before Mímisbrunnr.

Skuld reveals one moment — just one — from a Drekasál’s vast future when they visit her after they’ve turned fifteen. A moment that you’ve been told again and again no dragon ever reveals to anyone else. Not even their soulmate.

A thrill of anticipation sings its way through you, winding through your limbs and rattling your breath. To keep something so close, so secretive, must mean that it’s a moment of unparalleled importance to a dragon. You’re meant to be able to tell your soulmate everything. You’re meant to trust them with the best and worst of who you can be.

Your imagination runs wild with a dozen ideas of what could be so important, each one spilling across your thoughts like a overflowing bottle of watered-down ink on heavy parchment.

You look behind you at the three dozen other drekabǫrn on the karvi. More than half a dozen conflagrations are on this ship with you and your mother. Each of them a different size, and from a different realm. Dragons from across the Realms of Yggdrasil, all headed to speak with the Weaver of Futures.

It’s painfully obvious how much you stand apart from the others. They came with their conflagration; you only have your mother at your side. For the first time since you met him, you can keenly feel the two year age gap between you and Gauti. Too young still to receive his own glimpse of the future, Gauti waits back on Asgard with the rest of your family.

In some ways, you suppose it’s a bit silly to only really feel that age gap now. In all the years you’ve known him, the only lessons you’ve ever shared with him are the Drekasál ones. He’s a child of the Court of Asgard like you are, but he’s also in the class below yours, so you’ve never shared those lessons with each other. Still, watching how close the other drekabǫrn are with their conflagrations reminds you of Gauti. And not just of Gauti, but of Loki, Thor, Baldr, and Volstagg. Part of you yearns to return home already. To the familiarity and warmth of your friends.

Soon. Soon you’ll head home. You just have to get through this visit to Gymirsgard, and then you can return home.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Your first glimpse of Gymirsgard comes as you approach the realm, the excited gasps and chattering from the other drekabǫrn drawing your attention from the distant stars.

The blue star of the Jǫtunheimar system blazes brightly in the distance — though for you, it just appears white. You only know that it’s blue because of your lessons about the various star systems of Yggdrasil.

In the open space before Jǫkullknǫttr — the star — sits Gymirsgard in all its wondrous glory.

Unlike Asgard’s unique standing as a small, flat realm, Gymirsgard is a round planet, its only edges that of its atmosphere. Truthfully, for a realm, Gymirsgard is on the smaller side. Yet it not only houses more Drekasál than you can imagine, it’s also the same realm your mother and uncle were born to. For decades — centuries even — Gymirsgard was the only realm they knew. It was the realm they called home before home became Asgard.

You eyes quickly shift away from Gymirsgard to look at the vast, open space that occupies most of your view, scanning for the one other planet of this system with sharp eyes. The realm forbidden to all — and for good reason. After what happened to Princess Laufey, to High Lady Dagmær, to your uncle, and to so many other Drekasál and Asgardians there, no one should step foot on that accursed realm.

Jǫtunheimr. A realm full of icy darkness and ravenous monsters. A realm that will rip the life from any who dare venture to it.

You don’t see the ice planet though, wherever it is. Good.

Your attention shifts back to Gymirsgard as you approach the realm. Second by second, the realm swallows up the view in front of you, until the karvi is descending through the atmosphere, and the stars are swallowed by the sky and the clouds.

Your mother leans against the side of the karvi beside you as the starship breaks through the heavy clouds hanging over this part of the realm. She peers out over the vast, forested land below with a fond smile. Shifting her gaze, she points towards a seaside city in the distance, a wide smile you don’t see too often on her face.

“That’s Krossavík,” she tells you.

The name strikes a familiar chord in you, but at first you can’t place the name. When you do, it’s like a strike of lightning zips through you as you remember where you’ve heard it before.

“The city you grew up in?”

“The very one.” Her hand falls, and her smile fades a little. “It’s quite strange. Sveinn and I are from the same city, and yet we spent so long trying to find each other after our Soul Awakenings.”

“How long?” you ask, leaning your chin against your crossed forearms as you stare at the city. In the distance, you can see a few dragons in flight, returning from the sea to Krossavík. From here, you can’t hear the beat of their wings, or make out anything that makes them stand apart from other dragons. They’re just dragon-shaped blobs of grey, soaring over the grey sea.

“A century or so. Your uncle is only a little more than a decade younger than me, but I was gone from Gymirsgard by the time his Soul Awakening happened. We only met because I came home to see my mother.” The smile on your mother’s face fades further, becoming softer, sadder.

“Will we see here while we’re here?” you ask, excitement bubbling in your chest. You’ve never met your grandmother, and your mother rarely speaks of her. Photos of her are even rarer.

“No, no, she won’t be at the landing ground, my star,” your mother says. She reaches out, placing a gentle, comforting hand on your shoulder. She knows you’ve always been curious about your grandmother, what with how you prod about learning more about the dragon you’ve never met whenever your mother or uncle brings her up.

You pout a little at her words. It’s followed by a soft chuckle from your mother, and then a kiss placed atop your head.

“You’ll meet her someday, I promise,” she vows.

“But when?” you ask, impatience threaded in your words even as you keep them hushed so as not to draw the attention of the other dragons. You draw away from her, standing tall and looking Kára in the eyes. “This is the first time we’ve left Asgard. And we’re here, Mamma. Why can’t we just go see her?”

Kára looks away, but you continue to stare at her. She closes her eyes, shaking her head. She says, “It’s a lot to explain, especially now. I would love for you to meet her, it’s just… not the right time. Not with everything else.”

Everything else. That mysterious phrase is the bane of your existence. All you’re allowed to know is that phrase has something to do with her Weaver’s Reading. Something she can’t tell you. Something she is never allowed to tell anyone.

You let out a frustrated breath, leaning against the side of the karvi again, your back to her. You don’t look at Kára. Instead, you watch the land that passes below and the other drekabǫrn as the conflagrations mingle with each other. None of them come near you, though you can see the way their eyes dart to stare at you for a few seconds now and again.

Neither you nor Kára speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t even look at her, ignoring her presence the best you can.

When the karvi lands, it’s in a valley to the far north of Gymirsgard. A narrow stream flows out from the mouth of a cave at the end of the valley, the bubbling sounds of it lost beneath the flurry of activity of the conflagrations jumping over the side of the ship. You sigh, then heave yourself over the side of the ship, landing in the soft, crunchy layer of snow that barely covers the top of your boots.

You watch as the different conflagrations separate from one another entirely. The vængforinginn of each conflagration checks that their drekabǫrn are accounted for, and the adult dragon with each one merely hovers nearby.

There’s another crunch of snow beside you, one that causes your eyes to dart over before they shift towards the drekabǫrn once more; Kára hopped over the side, joining you in observing the drekabǫrn. She places a hand between your shoulder blades after a few second, guiding you forward, and everyone begins the short trek over to the cave.

The drekabǫrn trade glances with each other — and with you a few times — as all of you make your way towards the cave. Kára’s pace is swift enough that, soon enough, the two of you are leading.

Everyone is (mostly) silent during the walk. The crunch of snow is the loudest sound in the valley as you walk alongside the river that spills from the cave. Even the birds have gone quiet, the presence of so many dragons setting the forest on edge, it seems.

The conflagrations stop several metres from the cave’s mouth, but Kára keeps walking the two of you forward. You can feel the eyes of everyone drilling into your back, sending waves of unease up and down your spine. Something in your chest claws at your heart and lungs, begging you to pay attention to the danger that lurks at your back. It takes everything in you not to look back at them.

Kára stops just before the mouth of the cave, and you turn to face her, finally looking at her again. Her eyes are focused on the cave beside you. There’s a brief twitch in her jaw, a sign of her unease with being here. It makes you wonder if she’s remembering her Weaver’s Reading once again.

Her voice is hushed as she tells you, “Once you step inside, you cannot come back out until Skuld releases you. No matter what you see, what you hear, you do not leave. Understood?”

Your skin prickles at her words, hairs raising along your limbs and the back of your neck as you realise the extent of her unease.

“I understand.” You step away from her, into the cave itself. The two of you stare at each other for another moment. Then you nod at her before turning away and making your way further into the cave.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Your first steps into the cave are tentative. There’s soft torchlight coming from a few metres in, and you pass by the first of the torches on soft feet. You look back over your shoulder only once, after you’ve passed them. Your mother still stands there at the mouth of the cave, alone. It’s an unusual, unsettling sight. Uncle Sveinn is always with her. Always.

Except for this one time. He wasn’t allowed to come along for this journey. No one would explain why. All they would say is that he had to remain on Asgard.

You face forward again and continue down the tunnel.

Torch after torch, the tunnel turns into an ascending loop. Your footsteps are the only sound besides your soft breaths. Even the torches are quiet, which is far more unsettling than you would have expected. You make your steps as light as you can, your ears straining for any sounds besides your soft footfalls.

You continue your ascension, winding higher and higher with each loop. You’re not certain, but you think the loops are wider now than when you began — not that you can really tell.

When you finally reach the end, you find the tunnel opens up into a wide cavern room. There’s a slow, watery glow to the room as you step past the threshold. Like you’ve walked into a world beneath the waves, despite never stepping foot beneath water. All through the room, you can see stalactites dripping from the ceiling and stalagmites rising up from the unnaturally smooth floor.

“Ah, she finally arrives,” a voice calls out. Skuld’s voice, it has to be. You turn in a circle as you venture further into the room, searching for the Weaver, whose voice echoes all around you. “We have long awaited this day, little drekabarn. We have watched you with great curiosity. Your future is shrouded more than most.”

“Shrouded? What do you mean, Weaver?”

“Just as I said. It’s unusual for one like you. However, it always signals an interesting future as it unravels. Now, come. There is much for you to see and learn.”

Skuld glides out from behind you without warning, her footsteps soundless. You jump at her sudden appearance, wondering where she appeared from. Your back was to the cavern entrance, and you’re positive you looked at every shadow you passed as you stepped further inside. Still, you follow her as she moves deeper into the cave.

It strikes you how little of the Weaver you can see, the same as it did when Loki and Volstagg were given their god-titles. A black shroud covers her face, forbidding you from seeing beyond it, and a black dress that drags soundlessly across the floor, covering all but Skuld’s hands. Hands that you had assumed would be clean and boney, but are actually heavy, worn, and scarred.

As you cross through the cave, you approach a small seating area. Two large, dark rugs with the faint workings of a pattern woven into them, covered in a myriad of pillows, and a small circle of stones set between them. The arrangement is set at the base of what appears to be a well. The source of the watery glow of the room, if the way the ripples seem to fall onto the ceiling above it is any indication.

Mímisbrunnr. The Well of Wisdom.

Awe dances through you at the sight of an object so revered and sacred. Over the aeons since this Well was discovered, so many have sacrificed pieces of themselves just for a bit of knowledge they sought.

All-Father Odin sacrificed his eye to Mímisbrunnr years ago. No one truly knows what he’d sought an answer to when he did so, but it’s easy to guess what answers he likely sought. He sacrificed it to learn how to end the war with Jǫtunheimr. It was where the All-Father went after, appearing on Jǫtunheimr with one less eye before leading Asgard at Eldgard’s side against the Frost Giants once more.

The All-Father ended the war, but the Well had apparently not told him how to win it without losing the one he fought to bring home. Princess Laufey died on that frostbitten and cursed realm, never to know the warmth of Asgard again.

Skuld takes her seat on one side of the Well, gesturing for you to sit opposite of her. Once you’re settled, she reaches across the space between you, taking one of your hands and drawing it closer to her. Flipping it over, she leans forward and raises your palm to her shrouded face. With the index finger of her free hand, she traces lines over your palm — not following the ones etched into your skin, but different ones.

“You are remarkably calm and quiet, for one who does not know what I am doing,” Skuld says as she continues to trace lines over your palm.

“I’m not worried,” you tell her. Her tracing falters for a moment, like your answer surprises her. “I have faith in whatever you’re doing.”

“You have more faith than most. Most curious. Perhaps it is because you’ve been raised among the vættir, rather than the Drekasál,” Skuld says. You don’t say anything, despite all the questions that crowd your tongue because of her words. You have more questions than the Weaver would ever be willing to answer, that much you know.

Upon releasing your hand, Skuld sits back. You draw your hand back, placing it in your lap with the other. Only then do you allow yourself to as her the one thing that begs to be spoken.

“Why would other Drekasál not have faith in you, Weaver? You reveal Soul Awakenings, you tell us what is to come. Should we not have more faith in you than the vættir?”

“How do you break the faith of a people, and still have them seek your mercy?” Skuld asks, her voice suddenly sad and hollow. You can’t see her eyes, but you can feel her gaze as it sits heavy on you.

For several long moments, you’re quiet as you turn over her words, searching for an answer. For her part, Skuld does not press you to answer her, letting you come to your own conclusion about her question.

Mercy. Mercy implies that Skuld has more power over the Drekasál than you thought. That, if she chose to, she could punish your people. But punish them for what? And why, if their faith was broken, would they still go crawling to the Weaver, seeking Skuld’s generosity? What could she have promised —

A promise. Skuld promised them something. Something about the future. Something that they clung to desperately for so long, a hope perhaps, but —

“You promise them a hope they need, but they lose faith in that hope,” you finally say, your words slow and not entirely sure of themselves.

Skuld does not say anything, but she does nod. Something inside you fractures and weeps at the realisation. Skuld promised hope to your people about something, something they once desperately wanted to believe in. A hope they needed to believe in, and yet they have lost belief in that hope ever blooming true.

You look away from the Weaver, to Mímisbrunnr.

Silence fills the air between you both for long minutes. You think Skuld might be letting you process her answer, but it’s impossible to tell. To you, she’s just a shrouded figure, no expression to give away her thoughts. After too much silence, though, you turn back to Skuld, more words dancing sharp and angry on your tongue. Skuld speaks before you can let any of them spill forth.

“Twenty-four.” She says this like it’s an answer. When you look at her with a confused expression, trying to puzzle out the number, she explains. “Your Soul Awakening will happen in your twenty-fourth year.”

That’s nearly a decade from now. You’ve already waited forever for your Weaver’s Reading, and now you have to wait almost as long for your Soul Awakening? Impatience burns inside you.

“Isn’t that a bit old for a Soul Awakening?” you ask her. You can hear the sharp indignation in your words, and you lift your chin in an imitation of your royal friends.

“No. A soul Awakens only when it is ready. Twenty-four is a perfectly normal time for one to do so, drekabarn. Your mother's soul did not Awaken until she was twenty-seven, and her soulmate's did not Awaken until he was twenty-two.” You watch as Skuld stands, leaning over Mímisbrunnr. “I have seen souls Awaken when they are as old as seventeen, and I have seen souls Awaken as old as nearly forty. Dragonsouls are curious in that way.”

There’s the sound of something — multiple somethings being moved through the waters of the Well. The Weaver draws out several small logs from the Well, and you watch with rapt curiosity as she sits down, arranging the logs in the circle of stones.

A firepit, you realise. But the logs are wet. How does she expect to —

“Normally Mímisbrunnr requires sacrifice to learn,” Skuld says, interrupting your thoughts, “but you are not partaking in its waters, and it bends to the will of Yggdrasill, as we all do.”

“What do I need to do?” you ask her.

The Weaver passes you a knife, saying, “Three drops of blood onto the logs with the wish to know of your future. When I light the logs they will show me three things. Your most likely future paths, what your life might be in the more definitive of those paths, and which moment in your future you must hear today.” At the query on your face, she tilts her head to the side. You think she might be smiling. “Have faith, young dragon. The logs will light.”

Faith. You have plenty of that where the Weavers and Yggdrasill are concerned, even if so many other Drekasál do not.

So you listen, grimacing as you carefully make a shallow slice along the tip of your index finger. You hiss out a breath, the sting sharp as you squeeze it, letting three drops of blood fall onto different logs. Once that is done, Skuld hands you a small strip of wet cloth. You wrap it around your finger, hissing sharply at the stinging burn it causes.

Then, Skuld utters a word you don’t understand. You feel the ancient power that surges through the room. It condenses within the logs, coiling tight, then — it snaps apart, and the logs are ablaze.

You lean back on your uninjured hand, the other raised in front of your eyes at the sudden brightness. You expected thick smoke to blanket the room, but none rises from the logs. When you open your mouth to speak, Skuld raises a hand to ask for your silence. It’s only then that you realise she’s staring into the fire. You sit there, blinking as your eyes adjust to the firelight, until it no longer burns them to look at the Weaver.

“Your future is most interesting,” Skuld says. She leans closer to the fire, tilting her head to the right as she does. “I see many points that I could tell you now that will never change, no matter which paths you wander as you head towards your destiny. Most curious for one whose future is still so murky and ever-shifting.”

The hairs on your neck and arms raise. You’ve never given much thought to having a destiny. A future, a purpose to your life, yes, but not a destiny. It’s a weighted word. One that makes you think that, perhaps, you might become greater than you’ve ever let yourself imagine. That, maybe, you might live up to the legacies your parents have left for you to follow in the footsteps of.

And yet, the idea also unsettles you. To have a destiny means great things await you, yes, but you know the legends. The stories you have read, the histories you have memorised, all fall into similar patterns.

Greatness does not come without sacrifice, without pain.

“Weaver, what do you see?” you ask her, your words effused with curiosity about what she is seeing.

“I see many things, drekabarn. Every path that you might walk is open to me. I see wars that cannot be evaded, and wars that might never happen. I see a love that burns as bright and beautiful as the Kveldlagi of nights, and lasts for a lifetime; just as I also see loves that will burn like fires lit on a rainy day. I see death that will consume everything. I see your hopes, and your joys. Your wishes and dreams. Your sorrows and fears. I see the paths that you can walk, and the heartache that will shadow so many of them.”

The fire between you burns lower, barely more than embers and small puffs of flame compared to the small campfire it was just moments before. Skuld waves her hand over the embers, the fire banking until it is little more than glowing embers. The Weaver waves her hand over the fire again, and the embers begin to shift and glow in new patterns.

“I know which moment I must tell you. Are you prepared to hear?”

You suck in a breath and nod. Your heart thunders loudly in your chest. Anticipation chokes your limbs and shortens your breaths.

“Yes. I am prepared, Weaver.”

“Then listen closely to what I have to tell you, young one.”

Skuld gestures to the embers. You watch as they begin to glow in a way that forms the shape of a person. Her hand is outstretched, reaching for the hand of someone you can’t see, the image cut off. All the embers show of the other person is their hand, the details lost on you.

“This is what you must know,” Skuld begins. “You were whispered to my ancestors by Yggdrasill. Foretold by It to bring change to a great many things across Yggdrasil’s many branches. You will grow into a power that few will rival, blessed by beings far greater and more powerful than the vættir.

“Your path begins with this moment: on the day of your Soul Awakening. Much of your fate shall be sealed in the days after, for on the day of your ceremony, you will find the soul that the Voiceless One has bound you to in this life.”

You straighten up, mouth dropping open at Skuld’s words. You look at her with open awe. Warmth and giddiness floods your veins, and you don’t even attempt to hide the happiness this brings you — not that you could if you’d tried. To have your path align with your soulmate so early on? It is nothing short of a blessing by Yggdrasill for the bond the Voiceless One wove you.

You wait with bated breath for her to tell you more. To reveal any more scraps about the day of your Soul Awakening Ceremony. When she doesn’t say more, you hesitantly ask, “What else can you tell me, Weaver?”

Silence permeates the cavern, broken only by the sounds of breathing, of your heart thudding loudly, and the faint sound of trickling water. Finally, Skuld speaks once more.

“There is nothing else that I can tell you. That which I find worth telling you I cannot, for it might change the path you walk currently in ways that cannot be undone.” You bite your tongue, stopping yourself from pleading with the Weaver to reveal more to you anyway. If Skuld is concerned about changing the path you walk, then you must heed her. She's directing you towards the future you should walk, in the only way that she can in this moment. It surprises you when she speaks again. “Though, I can say this, for it is but a simple reminder. Protect your soulmate. Stand by them through all hardships, and always live for them. The Voiceless One chose this bond for a reason.”

“A simple reminder,” you murmur.

Tucking the words into your heart, you silently vow to never forget them. You’ve heard similar variations to that reminder before. More times than you can remember, your family has told you the Voiceless One chooses each bond for a reason.

It reminds you of when Frigga told you that the soulmate bond is a mixture of soul and blood magic. Of when you worried and wondered about if the bond was truly a curse in disguise, and how Lord Ivarr and Lady Tryggvadóttir’s interactions as a newly bonded pair banished such an idea. That afternoon showed you how well the Voiceless One chooses the bond for each of her children.

After all, how can something so effortless and comforting ever be a curse?

You do your best not to remember your exchange with Loki in the garden. Or the heavy, unspoken distance that lives in so many of the silences between the two of you these days in the presence of your conflagration.

Skuld stands without another word, beckoning you to follow her. You stand quickly, trailing after her as she returns to the mouth of the cavern. She stops before the mouth, and you step to the other side, but stop so you can turn and look at her. You place your left hand over your heart, bowing to the Weaver.

“Winds favour you, Weaver Skuld,” you tell her. Skuld pauses, as if your gesture has surprised her, and then copies you.

“Winds favour you, Lady Kárudóttir. I look forward to our next meeting. It will not be long now, before the vættir know your name.”

A shiver of excitement works its way down your spine. Skuld’s words promise to you that your godnaming will be soon. You smile, bowing to her once more. And then you turn around, and head back down the tunnel so you can return to your mother.

Each step is another one towards the destiny that awaits you.

( next chapter )

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